Days of Glory
by Not A Ghost3
Summary: Philippe had always wanted a brother. He just never realized the cost that came with one...Drabble fic. Leroux, canon time period.
1. Chapter 1

**What is this you may ask? It's something completely out of my comfort zone to get rid of my writers block and dive a bit into the depth of a character. This will be a series of very *very* short drabbles of snapshots of the life of Philippe de Chagny because I've become a touch obsessed with him here recently and I think he needs some love! So here we go! This is cannon time period, set in France and Leroux. Don't know if this will get any attention or not since it isn't E/C, but it doesn't matter because my heart needed to write this.**

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He had always wanted a brother.

He supposed that his cousins would do, but they were all so much older than him and never seemed to have time to sit and play boats with him. There were of course his sisters to think of but they were both too young and besides, girls didn't understand how to properly play battleships like other boys did. They only cared of dolls and dresses and candies. Which left mother and father…and a large, locked wooden door between him and them.

(Mother was always so kind and her pockets were always full of sweets, but there were babies to tend to, and he didn't much care for babies. Father was kind too...but a different _kind_ of kind. Gentle and safe, always the first to scoop him up and whirl him around the room or set him up on his knee to read him stories.)

(Both were always busy now that Grandfather had went away. His mother had said that he had gone on a trip to heaven to visit Grandmother and that it took a long time to get there...so long that Father would have to do his job for him now.)

(He secretly wished Grandfather had stayed here instead. Father had more time to play with him then.)

An empty bathtub, a wooden sailboat and his imagination would have to do for today he supposed.

Yes, he would've much preferred a brother.

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_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

"Philippe, a future Comte should not act in such a manner, now apologize to your sister," the stern (usually soft) voice of his mother chastised him from across the table.

He fidgeted in his seat, his dinner still untouched before him.

"Oh, let the boy relax. He has a long time before he'll become a Comte. He's only a child once—"

"That is still not a valid reason to kick Emilia from underneath the table," her attention turned from his husband at the other end of the table back to her eldest. "Philippe."

His father sighed and the clatter of a fork being set down reached his ears. "I have not yet heard an apology, son."

He sat wide eyed, his eyes glancing between his parents until they finally landed on the blue eyes across the table from him.

"I am sorry for kicking your leg," he mumbled, eyes now downcast.

His mother sniffed and gave a nod, her attention turning back to the plate in front of her.

The rest of dinner continued in silence, no one wanting to touch on the subject at hand until his father pursed his lips and twitched his mustache and his eyes landed on him.

"Have you packed? You will not have time to in the morning."

Philippe nodded, not looking up from his plate.

"And your supplies…you have all of those ready as well?"

Again, he nodded.

"Look at me while I am speaking to you."

At that, Philippe raised his eyes to those of his father. The same eyes that looked back at him in the mirror everyday. The same that sat across and beside him around the table. Gentle blue concealed by the intimidating iciness they'd been taught to show.

"We will miss you Philippe. But do not let that distract from you from your education, understood?"

He straightened up and nodded (which his father reciprocated, a proud gleam to his eye while his mother hummed in a agreement across the table) before turning back to his dinner, still untouched before him.

He did not want to go to school away from home. He did not want to grow up in a boarding house with other boys. He did not want to play their rugged sports or learn anything about them. He _wanted_ to remain here and learn about what his father does and hug his mother and sisters each night before bed and play with the dogs in the gardens. He did not want to leave home at eleven years of age. Would it be a crime to wait another year? Or perhaps even two?

He bowed his head lower and hoped no one saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

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_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the lack in updates! Getting back in the groove of writing more of this soon! Philippe is 14/15 here!**

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The letter had come via the school's post that morning and his bags had been packed by that afternoon.

His parents were coming to collect him for the week. A _very_ rare occurrence.

He had been informed that his Aunt Angelique (his father's sister who had lived in the connected house to their's along with her nearly unapproachable cat Maxine whom he had liked to tease in his youth) had become betrothed and he was to attend their wedding.

A wedding that was happening sooner rather than later, for reasons he was not privy too.

The carriage ride had been long with no one but his father to keep him company. He told him of his studies and the boys that teased him for enjoying the more refined things in life rather than the latest athletic pursuits of the time. A statement to which his father replied:

"There is a reason that you will be a Comte and they will not be and it is not solely due to family lineage."

Which was then followed with a knowing smile.

(It had been so long since he'd seen his father smile it seemed.)

He smiled back.

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To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

A Naval Officer.

His uncle-to-be was a _Naval Officer_.

He was sure his eyes must have been as round as the dinner plates before him as the man across from him spoke of his profession, a passionate gleam in his eye.

He had always loved the ocean. His earliest memories centered around their family's yearly trips to the shore in his younger days and how he loved swimming out into its welcoming blue waters. To think of it…living out on a boat…nothing but sea…and the wind…not to mention the title…the importance…

A _Naval_ _Officer_.

He felt something in him tug. He wanted this man to talk forever. He wanted to hear everything about the sea and battles and ships and anchors and—

His mother would never approve, but his father…he had always loved the ocean…might could be swayed…

"Philippe, Monsieur du Quenoy asked you a question," his mother's voice pulled him from his musings.

A question? For him? What could he possibly have to offer this man? This _Naval Officer_? He blinked and sat up straighter. His uncle (because he might as well begin to acknowledge him as so) smirked and clasped his hands together.

"I simply asked if you would like a tour of one of my boats in the days ahead?"

He nodded enthusiastically, nearly toppling his plate over in excitement.

He wanted to be just like this man.

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_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow! It's been over a month since an update (sorry!) but I've made it a quarantine-goal™ to update this one on more of a regular basis since it is only drabble chapters! Philippe is still pretty young in this one. Thanks for sticking with this!**

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The water at the edge of the lake at school just couldn't compare.

It was grey and unmoving, so unlike the glittering greenish blue of the ocean he had left behind with his uncle. The ocean was crisp and life-like, beckoning him like an old friend.

This lake seemed putrid in comparison.

His uncle's ship was fine and his uncle an even finer man. He had spent much of the past summer close to his side, soaking in as much knowledge about the sea and boats and the navy as he could. He had stowed a few of his uncle's books away to school with him. Books about sailing and sailors and knot-tying and creatures that swam about the ocean. They all reminded him of summer, of happiness, of _warmth. _Perros-Guirec...it was…picturesque. His mother had even allowed him to swim out into the ocean and learn to sail a smaller rowboat that his uncle also owned. His pale skin had burned under the scorching sun, but really, what kind of sailor would he be if he didn't?

There hardly ever seemed to be sun here, just clouds. And rain.

"Chagny…_Chagny_!" a stern voice brought him out of his daze.

Philippe quickly turned his head away from the window that overlooked the school grounds and back to the professor who was calling his name rather snappishly.

"Yes, sir?" he answered with his back straighter than it had been a moment ago and the heat of embarrassment beneath his cheeks.

"Your recitation, if you would."

He nodded as he closed the book in front of him and began to recite the lesson at hand.

He longed for summer and the freedom of the ocean breeze that school could not give him.

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_To be continued..._


End file.
